Psion Omega (Psion series Book 5) (4 page)

He heard his sister scream his name as they carried
him out of the room.

“Save Natalia!” he yelled back.

Brickert knew he was dead. He waited for one of them
to put a bullet in his skull, but it didn’t happen. Once they reached the
lobby, the Thirteens hustled Brickert to the elevators.

Where are they
taking me?

Two more Thirteens joined the group, each with a gun
trained on Brickert’s head. Their dark red eyes told Brickert they were
exercising great restraint by not killing him. These beasts would jump on any
excuse to splatter his brains across the wall. The elevator arrived quickly.
Two sets of doors opened side by side: one elevator for the Thirteens and
Brickert, the other full of Psions.

The Psions poured from the lift. Al and Brickert’s
eyes met, but it was too late. When the doors closed, Brickert heard pounding
on the sliding doors. One of the Thirteens pressed his thumb to a scanner above
the columns of floor buttons. The panel of buttons popped open and revealed
another, smaller panel set into the elevator wall. Brickert only saw two
buttons on this new panel: one black and one red. The Thirteen pushed the red
one.

The elevator car descended deep into the earth. The
Thirteens held Brickert in such a way that they rendered his blasting useless.
Why don’t they kill me?
The Thirteens
weren’t known for taking prisoners. Two guns jammed against his head, one on
each side. They could turn him into pulp on a whim.

They need me
, he realized.
But for what?

The elevator ride lasted longer than he expected.
When the lift came to a stop and the doors opened, the Thirteens pushed him
forward. The air wafting in from the floor smelled like contaminated meat. The
walls were covered in stains of brown, red, and black. The carpet, tattered and
burned, was worse than the walls. Even the ceiling was dirty with splatterings
of varying sizes and shapes.

Lining the hallway on both sides were small rooms.
The smells coming from them were worse than the scent in the hallway. The
squalor inside them made the hallway look somewhat tidy. A combined common room
and kitchen was at the end of the hall. Several pieces of torn and abused
furniture decorated it.

The Thirteens threw Brickert to the ground as more
of them came into the room. Several guns pointed at him now while the Thirteens
spoke to each other in shrieks. A couple of them left in a hurry. The others
eyed Brickert hungrily. Their blood red eyes shone in the dim light. None of
them wore gas masks now. Their scarred, tattooed, and pitted faces were on full
display. A couple of them jerked rapidly, communicating to each other in
silence. Brickert tried to figure out what they were saying, but even Sammy
hadn’t learned their form of speaking. He wanted to appear brave, but didn’t
dare meet their gazes. His head began to tremble, the hairs on the back of his
neck stood up straight, and his cheeks burned as hot as irons. The horrible
silence gave time for dread to settle into Brickert’s bones.

The Thirteens had taken him into their den; it
didn’t seem likely he’d find his way out. In their eyes he saw his death. How
long could he last against so many? A minute? Two?

What are they
waiting for?

Two Thirteens who had left in a hurry returned with
a camera. They trained it on Brickert, a red light blinking at the front, the
lens trained on their prisoner. The Thirteens conversed in low, animalistic
growls for several seconds while still staring at Brickert. The way they
watched him made his stomach churn. One of them licked her sharpened teeth with
a forked tongue. Another made claws with his fingers and scratched up his own
chest until it bled.

Then, all at once, they pounced.

Brickert tried to blast them away, but their fists
and feet were everywhere. Dozens of limbs kicking, punching, beating, breaking.
Merciless. Pain erupted everywhere: ribs, face, arms, legs, groin. He couldn’t
keep up with the blows. Too many. Too fast.

His nose broke with a loud crack. His teeth
shattered, newly regrown after being broken by the Thirteen in Colorado
Springs.
God … please … save me or let me
die now.

When his cheekbone cracked, it felt dull and far
away, but fire blossomed when the toe of a boot met the top of his skull. His
vision blurred. He heard them shrieking to each other in low tones, urging one
another on. His ribs protested every puff of air, so he could only take small,
shallow breaths.

Someone … help
me
,
Brickert begged.
They’re killing me.
Sammy. Someone.

The beating went on until they stopped at the sound
of a single shriek. Brickert couldn’t move. His universe was agony. Pain was
everywhere and in everything. The Thirteens dragged him to a chair by his arms,
lifted him up, and dropped him in it. He was wet with blood or sweat or both.
Through the wetness covering his face, Brickert saw one of the Thirteens place
a sheet of white paper against Brickert’s chest. Then, using Brickert’s own
blood, the Thirteen painted words on the paper while another stuck the sheet to
Brickert’s chest using a staple gun.

Brickert screamed as the staples pierced his flesh.

The camera turned on him again, surrounding him in
light. Brickert’s com was ripped from his ear and plugged into the camera.
They’re going to broadcast this
.
His chin hit his chest as he was unable
to support his head any longer. Through his blurred vision, he read the sign,
even as his own blood continued to drip down his face onto the paper like dark
red raindrops. Ice flooded his veins when he read the words:

Remove the bombs or he dies.

Brickert was a dead man. His team would never remove
the bombs. They would never negotiate with these animals.

Sunday, April 27, 2087

INSIDE A LARGE executive office on the top floor of the First
Continental American Bank tower in Detroit, Sammy stood at a large window, a
pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes. The view of the city was gorgeous, so
were the plush decorations of sleek, modern design. The skyscraper neighbored
the Joswang Tower. He let the binoculars hang around his neck and checked the
time in the upper corner of his com’s holo-screen.

0238

His eyes grew blurrier the longer he stared, and it
took several seconds of rubbing to make the blurriness go away. Then he yawned
and rubbed his head. His hair had grown long in the last few months, now
reaching past his ears. Jeffie seemed to like it that way, so he didn’t cut it.
Sammy brought his night-vision binoculars back to his eyes.
So far, so good
.

Rain poured down from the skies, splattering the
large windows which he, Kawai, Li, Jeffie, and Nikotai stared through as they
observed the street around the Joswang Tower. Part of Sammy wished he could be
with the teams planting the bombs. It felt odd being away from the danger. He
didn’t like leaving his friends to do the dirty work, but they wanted him in
control of the mission, ready to move in only if needed.

They were too protective over him, even insisting
that he wear their best armor despite being out of the action. It was the same
flexible, woven bulletproof mesh Psion Alphas wore in combat. Only two other
suits had been salvaged from Capitol Island. Anna wore one, and Al the other.

Brickert was doing an excellent job of coordinating
between Sammy and the teams.
I told him
he’d make a good team leader
, Sammy thought. Lorenzo Winters, one of the
resistance men who’d accompanied Sammy to the Hive, had led Albatross Team in
San Francisco, but had broken his foot a week before the trip to Detroit. Sammy
had tapped Brickert to replace him.

If this mission
goes well, maybe Brickert will lead Albatross Team in Dallas
. Dallas was the
site of the third cloning facility they planned to bomb.

Using his binoculars, Sammy checked the street
around the lobby entrances to make sure his team had no unwanted visitors. When
the explosives detonated in the upper floors, they wanted to keep casualties to
zero. Though they had made every effort to limit damage to only the floors
where the Hybrids were grown, nothing was certain when dealing with bombs and
buildings.

After the all-clear came for the three teams to
plant the explosives, Sammy waited for the next update. Some strange sounds
came from the coms of Brickert’s team followed by hissing like static.

“Albatross, check your com. Everything okay? I’m
getting some white noise.”

There was no answer except the strange crackling
sounds.

“Albatross,” Sammy said to Brickert again, “I’m
picking up some interference from your coms. Please respond.”

No answer. Jeffie cast Sammy a nervous glance.

“What do you want to do, Sammy?” Li asked. “Send
someone to check on them?”

Sammy’s mind flew through his options. It would be
almost impossible for someone to catch Brickert’s team unaware. No reason
Brickert couldn’t warn Sammy if a problem occurred.
Then what’s causing the static? And why isn’t Brickert responding?

“CHAR—!” Brickert’s voice yelled over the com.

“Albatross?” Sammy asked. “Report to me now!”

The only answer Sammy heard was a muffled booming
sound like a cough or a distant drum. He heard other sounds, too, but couldn’t
tell what they were.

“Sammy?” Li asked. “What are your orders?”

“Go,” Sammy finally said. “You, too, Kawai.”

Without another word the two Psions ran for the
elevator. Nikotai and Jeffie went back to watching the street. Sammy eyed the
zipline guns stowed in the pack in the corner of the office. Back in February,
when they had started training for these urban missions, Sammy and his team
practiced using the guns for speedy escapes from the office towers.

“Albatross,” Sammy said, “if you can hear me, Li and
Kawai are coming over to check on you. If your com starts working, report in as
soon as—”

“Help us!” Brickert said in a wheezing voice.
“Attack … on the … security center!”

“Each leader send half your team to Albatross Team’s
position now!” Sammy ordered. “I’m coming in, too. You four hold tight and keep
your shields up.”

“Gas,” Brickert’s voice cut through his own coughs
and gags. “They’ve got gas.”

Sammy looked at Jeffie and Nikotai. “You two stay
put. I need you to be my eyes in the sky. Nikotai, snipe any enemy who tries to
enter from the street. Keep me informed. You’re in charge.”

“Be careful,” Nikotai told him.

Jeffie gave Sammy a nod. With his hands spread
apart, Sammy blasted the large glass window multiple times in rapid succession
until it wobbled and then shattered into thousands of pieces. The difference in
the air pressure sucked the glass out into the night where the pieces fell like
tiny twinkling stars. He wasted no time in setting up the zipline gun,
anchoring it into the wall and floor at three points. Then he aimed the zipline
and fired it into the roof of the neighboring building. He tugged firmly on the
line, testing its strength and elasticity. Satisfied he wouldn’t plunge to his
death between the towers, Sammy grabbed the handles and triggered the release.
Pressurized air shot him forward until he dangled across downtown Detroit at
speeds nearing sixty kilometers per hour.

Once he knew his momentum would carry him to the
rooftop of the Joswang building, Sammy released his hold of the zipline and
flew onto the roof. Loose gravel awaited him below. He used his Anomaly
Fourteen to fire several blasts from his feet, powerful pushes of energy that
slowed his fall and allowed him to set foot on the rocky floor at a run. Across
the way was a door to the rooftop. He sprinted to it, fired three shots at the
lock, and kicked it open. A deafening
BANG
assaulted his ears as the door crashed into the wall.

“Sammy, they’ve taken Brickert in elevator 13,” Al
reported. “We barely missed it.”

“Was he alive?” Sammy asked. There was a catch in
his voice as he spoke the words. The thought of Brickert dying.…

“Yes, but wounded.”

“If they took him to the elevator, it must mean
they’re going down.”

“How do you know?” Al asked.

“Because that’s where they took me.” Flashes of his
own elevator ride with Stripe and other Aegis flashed before Sammy’s eyes. “Are
there any Thirteens left on the main floor? Are the others okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out! If you see a Thirteen, kill it and cut
off its finger. I’m going to need it.”

“We have to be out of the building, Sammy. The
explosives are in place. Nine minutes to detonation. We agreed on this.”

“Get everyone out. You’re honcho inside the
building. Nikotai is now mission leader. As far as everyone else is concerned,
I’m on a solo rescue mission. Contact Rosmir and have him bring the ambulance
around to the lobby doors. Got it?”

“Be careful.”

Sammy reached the top floor of the Joswang building.
It wasn’t a penthouse suite like the fox’s N Tower in Orlando. It was a fitness
center with a large pool, racquetball and basketball courts, and a dozen other
amenities. Sammy sprinted across it and came to the stairs next to the
elevators. The stair door wasn’t locked. He pushed it open and hurled himself
over the railing.

Down he fell. Every few floors he used foot blasts
against the walls of the stairs to slow himself to a manageable speed. With his
Anomaly Eleven, Sammy’s brain calculated everything, from his speed and
acceleration to the amount of blast energy he needed to control his fall.

“Sammy,” Nikotai reported, “the Thirteens are
broadcasting a feed using Brickert’s com. They’ve got him. He looks
really—”

“Patch it through to mine,” Sammy ordered.

The holo-screen on Sammy’s com came alive,
displaying the live feed from Brickert’s com. When Sammy saw his best friend slumped
over on a chair with a sign stuck to his chest—copious amounts of blood
dripping from his nose and mouth, a dull, lifeless expression on his
face—he wondered if his friend was already dead.

Not Brickert. I
can’t lose Brickert.

He read the sign. Saw Brickert stir, the faint rise
and fall of his chest.

You chose the
wrong hostage.

Sammy ground his teeth together so hard they
squeaked. His jaw began to ache as his pulse quickened, his blood roaring
through his veins.
I will kill you all.
The
rage inside threatened to transform him into something darker, baser, and
deadlier.

When he reached the ground floor of the Joswang
building, he left the stairwell and ran for the security center. “Al!” he
shouted. “I need that finger now!”

Al came out of the security center. His clothes were
covered in blood and he cradled something in his hands. “It’s not good, Sammy,”
he said. “Hefani is … Natalia’s unresponsive. Strawberry’s in shock.”

“Just give me the finger!” Sammy screamed in a
primal, rage-filled tone.

“Here! Here! Go.”

Sammy took it and ran to elevator 13. He jammed the
button repeatedly until the door dinged. Once he was inside, he pressed the
digit against the scanner and watched as the panel opened. Two choices: black
and red. In the elevator in Rio, there had been a third choice: white.

I’ve seen black.
Black is where they keep the anomalies for questioning.

He watched the feed coming in live from their
location. The Thirteen couldn’t seem to hold the camera very steady. Sammy
noted the furniture, torn and shredded.

He’s in their
living quarters. Like at the Hive.
He saw them again as clearly as he saw
his own reflection in the elevator doors. Their eyes, their clothes, their lust
for blood.

Sammy mashed the red button with the severed finger,
and the elevator began its descent. Images filled his mind as he sank deeper
into the earth. He saw himself destroying them. It would be a massacre. He
wanted to smell their blood. Every blow they had landed on his friend would be
paid for with a life.

No, no. That’s
not me
.

On the com screen, Brickert muttered something. His
words came out thick and wet. Slick red liquid trickled from his mouth. Then he
coughed. It sounded like he was choking. Sammy watched closely as his friend
spat out something long and white.

His front tooth.

Rage so strong and violent passed through Sammy that
he shook—crackling with a lively, dark energy that needed to be expended.
A brief vision passed before his eyes of himself tearing apart thylacines in
the jungles of the Amazon. He remembered the guilt after seeing what he’d done,
after losing control over his mind and body. He had let the anomaly take over.
The Thirteen.

Sammy closed his eyes. Letting it out would make him
nearly invincible. Keeping it reined in could mean his death. But each dance he
had with the darkness inside—the Anomaly Thirteen—the darkness grew
stronger, louder, harder to ignore. He thought of Trapper, how he had changed
from being Commander Byron’s best friend to something twisted and
unrecognizable.

A whimper came through his com’s earpiece. He opened
his eyes and saw a Thirteen holding a knife to Brickert’s face.

“Please …” Brickert moaned.

They’re going to
carve his face.

 
“DON’T
TOUCH HIM!” Sammy roared into his com.

The elevator came to a stop. The Thirteen on screen
paused at the sound of Sammy’s voice coming through Brickert’s com. The doors
opened with a soft ping. Sammy walked out of the elevator with his arms held
high above his head. The stench of the floor assaulted his nose. Two Thirteens
appeared down the length of the corridor, in the doorway of the large common
room where Brickert was held, weapons aimed at Sammy’s chest.

Fully automatic
assault rifles. One hundred twenty rounds per magazine. Nine hundred RPM.

The red-melt-to-black uniforms met him halfway down
the hall, their guns still trained on his heart. “You better be here to give us
the detonators,” one said. “Or you are never gonna see the sun again. And your
fellow Fourteen … he hasn’t even begun to know pain yet.”

“Burn in hell.” As they reached out to pat him down,
Sammy attacked first, blasting them in the chest with his most powerful hand
blasts. As the Thirteens flew backward, they opened fire.

Sammy used his right hand to shield while performing
a small blast jump. With his left hand, he used a strong push blast to support
his body while running along the right wall, his body now parallel to the
floor. The Thirteens adjusted their shots, but Sammy anticipated this and
jumped again, turning his body another 90 degrees until he was running on the
ceiling. The Thirteens followed him with their bullets. Sammy turned again,
switched hands, and continued running along the left wall. All the while his
computer-like brain kept count of the number of bullets each gun had fired.